I became a journalist to help people.

Behind the scenes of a big investigation   [Mother Jones]( A quick note before hearing from reporter Samantha Michaels: Earlier this week, we got such great feedback from readers about how we can better ask for [the donations]( it takes to keep Mother Jones charging hard, and one person called out Samantha's recent story about "failure to protect" laws in particular. So we asked her to offer a behind-the-scenes look at why this story mattered so much to her and how she was able to bring it to life. Like the reporting itself, it's revelatory and powerful, and we're hoping you can find the time for it this weekend.   MoJo Reader, Samantha Michaels here, and I'm a criminal justice reporter at Mother Jones. I became a criminal justice reporter because everywhere you look, the system is failing and harming people. And back in August, we published a big investigation about how that happens: "[She Never Hurt Her Kids. So Why Is a Mother Serving More Time Than the Man Who Abused Her Daughter](?" It was a year in the making and a team undertaking, and it had a major impact when people learned about "failure to protect" laws and Kerry King, a mother in Oklahoma with a terrifying story. Our team asked if I'd write to you about the project, hoping it would be a good way to [ask for donations]( during our fall fundraising drive. I've never written a fundraising solicitation before, and it feels a bit weird, but I'll give it a shot because I'm so grateful to work at a place like Mother Jones where stories like this are prioritized. We journalists dream about being able to sink time and effort into ambitious investigations, and we know it's only because of [support from readers]( that we can do them. I first heard about failure-to-protect laws in 2019, when reading an article about a mother named Tondalo Hall who was being released from prison with a commutation after serving 15 years behind bars. The reason for her incarceration: Her abusive boyfriend had broken her young children's legs, and she hadn't been able to stop him. He received just two years in jail. I felt outraged. I couldn't stop thinking about it, how a woman who committed no violence herself, and who had been a victim of abuse, could be punished more harshly than the man who abused her and committed the crime. So I called up an attorney who'd worked on the case to learn more. My jaw dropped when the attorney told me that the story was not unique, and that there were many, many other women who were still locked up for similar reasons. Kerry King, for example, is serving a 30-year prison sentence because she couldn't stop her ex-boyfriend John Purdy from beating her and her daughter one night. (He got just 18 years.) Immediately, I knew I wanted to investigate. Then the pandemic hit, priorities shifted, and with so much happening every day, I worried I might never get a chance to report out the story. But I didn't stop thinking about it. And then, in 2021, my editors gave me a gift: They told me I could step back from the news cycle and devote myself to this investigation. And they put data journalist Ryan Little (and many other staffers) on the story with me, because the first big obstacle to understanding the failure of failure-to-protect laws, and [stories like King's](, was a dearth of data. Reporters always start with the data. But no one had ever been able to tally how many women were incarcerated in Oklahoma or nationally under these unjust, sexist, and racist laws. Ryan needed to write specialized computer programs to scrape state websites ([he details how here](), and over the course of a year, we identified hundreds of cases like King's. We found that a whopping 90 percent of Oklahomans incarcerated for this offense were women, many of them survivors of domestic violence. Black moms were disproportionately targeted. And we found these cases are common in just about every state. It was groundbreaking research. I can't understate how much expertise and effort it took a data journalist like Ryan to unlock it, and how it made this project possible. Reporting like that costs money, which is why it's rare, and why I hope you'll [support our team's work]( so we can do hard-to-get projects that would otherwise go untold. But data and the systemic failure of these laws are only part of the story. As a reporter, I want my sources to feel heard, especially when it seems like most government institutions have abandoned them or forgotten them. But helping Kerry tell her story was one of the most challenging things I've ever done, because there were so many people who didn't want us to share it. The Oklahoma Department of Corrections, for example, denied our media request to film Kerry inside the prison, saying that if they let one journalist in, they'd have to let "a million" others in too. When I asked if I could instead see Kerry during normal visitation hours, like a friend or family member would, they sat on my application for months—hesitating to greenlight it even after I told them I flew all the way from California to Oklahoma and was right outside the facility. I had to find another way to build trust with Kerry, who was taking a big risk by sharing such a traumatic story with a total stranger. So we spent 25 hours talking on the phone, in 20-minute increments, the maximum allowed by the prison telecoms company. Slowly but surely, we got to know each other. Eventually, Kerry gave me permission to meet three of her young children, to hear how her incarceration affected them, something we knew would be crucial to learn. But then another problem arose. They were living with their dad and her ex-husband, Ali Jordan Lalehparvaran, who also previously abused her and once shot up their house with an AK-47. The first time I called him, he appeared to have turned over a new leaf, saying we were welcome to visit him and the kids, because he believed Kerry had been punished too harshly and his children deserved their mom back. But days before our trip, he got wind of the fact that I was investigating his prior abuse, and he grew so angry that he rescinded his offer, while also threatening something even scarier: to stop bringing the kids to see their mom. Kerry was devastated and felt like she had no control. I was nervous too. Cautiously, I texted him back to see whether he might change his mind, telling him that we needed to hear the children's side of the story. And eventually he relented. So, too, did the corrections department: In April 2022, I flew to Oklahoma a second time after officials finally approved my visitation application. And though they would not let me enter the building with any camera or audio recorder or even a notebook, I was at last able to be in the same room as Kerry, to sit next to her. By then I already knew much of her story, but finally putting a face to her voice and meeting her in person was one of the most meaningful parts of the reporting experience. As was meeting Lilah, Kerry's 11-year-old daughter, who welcomed filmmaker Mark Helenowski and me into her bedroom to talk about how her mom's incarceration affected her. All these years later, Lilah had trouble understanding why Kerry had been punished. "Like, I kind of know why she's in jail, but I know she's not supposed to be there," Lilah told us, beginning to cry. "I just really miss her. I just want to talk to her," she said, imagining what it might be like to see her mom every day, not just once a month. "You can't really make memories on a phone." My heart ached listening to Lilah, who was still so young and had been traumatized so many times, first by an abusive man and then by a court system that ripped her mom away. I asked if she wanted to take a break or stop the interview, but she shook her head no and said it was important to share her story, however hard it felt, because she wanted people to listen, to do something to help her reunite with her mom. (I hope you'll watch the [accompanying video journalism](: You'll see why we billed it as a proper "documentary.") I became a journalist because I want to help people. I want Kerry's story to be heard loud and clear. I want her children to get some relief. I want Oklahoma lawmakers to amend this awful law—and this investigation is already starting to help make that possible. (Another benefit of being [supported by readers instead of corporate bosses](: I don't have to feign neutrality in the face of injustice.) Eight state lawmakers in Oklahoma thanked me for our reporting—three Republicans and five Democrats, including a couple who said they hoped to introduce legislative reforms. "I'm very appreciative that you are highlighting this issue and would love to help you continue to do so inside the state," Democrat Rep. Monroe Nichols told me. Another one, a Republican, wrote to me: "This may be the first time in my life I agree with someone from San Francisco. 😁." Even outside Oklahoma, policymakers took notice: A Virginia lawmaker's chief of staff told me that after reading my article, the lawmaker wanted to explore the possibility of amending her state's failure-to-protect law too. I also heard from readers who were inspired to push for change. Multiple women around the country asked me how they might get in touch with Kerry, so they could send her money and letters of support. A defense attorney in Ohio wrote that he planned to use my reporting in court while representing another woman with a similar case. An associate professor at Penn State said he hoped to gather computer scientists and AI specialists to identify more failure-to-protect cases. A creative-writing PhD student at Oklahoma State University told me she's trying to establish writing workshops for women convicted of failure to protect, "teaching them how to be writing tutors, to teach one another and advocate for themselves on the page." Eventually I heard from Kerry, who called from prison. She thanked me for sticking by her and said it was somewhat surreal, after so many years locked away and feeling like nobody believed her, to hear that other journalists were sharing her story online, that people actually cared. But she also felt sad and stressed: Her ex-husband, Ali Jordan, had just been arrested and jailed—and she worried what might happen to her kids with both of their parents locked up. There are a lot of media outlets that sensationalize crime and don't consider the full humanity of everyone involved—including people who have been incarcerated, many of whom are also victims. The vast majority of women in prisons, for example, have survived physical or sexual abuse, and many of them faced discrimination at the hands of law enforcement because of their race, sex, and class. I became a criminal justice reporter because everywhere you look, the system is failing and harming people. And my favorite part about working at Mother Jones is that we're given the resources to dive deep into investigations that look to change that. It takes so much time to build the trust that's required to tell stories like Kerry's—we had to stick with the reporting through months of twists and turns, even when the news cycle was plodding quickly onto other headlines. Mother Jones believes that investigations like this are worth prioritizing, even when they are difficult to pull off. It's only because we're [funded by readers]( that we can do it. It is humbling to know how much time my colleagues poured into this story over the year it took to report it out. It was special to have so many people rooting for a project that I really cared about and believed was important. I have endless gratitude and admiration to the whole team at Mother Jones and readers like you who value reporting like we do. So, thanks for reading this long email. I hope it helps you understand just how valuable your support is to us journalists who dream of doing big, ambitious projects that can make a difference for both people and policies—and that [your donations make possible](. We'd all be incredibly grateful if you can pitch in during our fall fundraising push. Sincerely, Samantha Michaels Criminal Justice Reporter Mother Jones [Donate](   [Mother Jones]( [Donate]( [Subscribe]( This message was sent to {EMAIL}. 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